


The Fire of the Frost

by profdanglais



Series: What Dreams May Come [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 4a divergence, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle Couple, F/M, Ice Magic, Magic, Married Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Sequel, Swan-Jones Family (Once Upon a Time), frozen arc, just ask!, killian and Emma are a team, snow magic, their way by moonlight sequel, tho you may have questions, you can read this without reading that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: An ice wall has appeared around all of Storybrooke, followed by a blizzard that blankets the entire town in snow.Snow. In July.Sheriff Emma Swan is not happy about these developments, especially as she is eight months pregnant and currently dealing with a worried father, an overprotective husband, and a pregnant mother whose baby will be born after her own—not to mention a reforming Evil Queen and a still-wicked witch and a town that hasn’t fully recovered from thelastmysterious curse.But when the people she loves start turning up frozen Emma has no option but to seek help from old enemies and questionable allies, and to risk herself, once again, for the sake of Storybrooke.
Relationships: Belle/Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Captain Book - Relationship, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Henry Mills, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood, Prince Charming | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, captain charming, platonically ship Killian with everyone wtf not
Series: What Dreams May Come [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1171265
Comments: 25
Kudos: 123
Collections: The Great Captain Swan No-Curse Renaissance





	1. The Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Just obscenely massive amounts of love to everyone who showed support for this fic. I adore you all ❤️❤️❤️

Snow was falling heavily on the road ahead, and on the squad car as it made its slow and cautious way towards the edge of town. The flakes of it were light and fluffy, pretty as a picture on a Christmas card, but they fell thickly and fast and they fell with _intent_. Though the skies had been clear and cloudless when the car set out from the station, by the time it had travelled the two miles or so to the town line several inches of snow had accumulated on its hood and rearview mirrors, and the wipers going at full speed had their work cut out to keep it from piling on the windshield as well. 

Sheriff Emma Swan (now Jones) gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles matched the hue of the snow, her arms and shoulders held taut as she manoeuvred the squad car carefully across the growing drifts. She was fairly used to driving in snow, and often quite recklessly; her Bug had never had snow tires but she hadn’t let that stop her from driving way too fast in pursuit of a skip, skidding along slushy Boston streets and around their slickly perilous corners, caught in the exhilaration of the chase. It hadn’t concerned her much at the time, the danger in that exhilaration, but she’d been younger then and alone. She definitely had _not_ been eight months pregnant and married to a pirate who was fiercely protective at the best of times and positively feral now that she was weeks away from giving birth to their first child. 

Shaking off thoughts of what Killian would say when he learned she’d been driving in weather like this—no snow tires on the squad car either, they’d had no inkling that in mid-July any such thing might be required—Emma concentrated on the road ahead, keeping her foot steady on the gas and resisting the urge to slam on her brakes every time she felt the car might start to slide. 

“Emma, are you sure—” 

“Dad!” She didn’t dare take her eyes off the road even for as long as it would take to glare at David where he sat in the passenger seat, equally white-knuckled as he gripped the handle on the door, white-faced as well and clearly resisting the urge to grab hold of the wheel himself. “Do _not_ distract me right now!” 

“Fine, fine,” he replied, but the tension in his voice only made her more tense. 

“We must be nearly there,” she told him, forcing her voice to sound calm. “Leroy said the wall is at the town line. We have to be close by now.” She squinted at the curtain of snow, hunting for any sign of movement or any colour that wasn’t white. “Wait, there!” she cried a moment later. “Is that him?” 

“I don’t see—” David began, then broke off as the dwarf’s green knit cap and plaid coat slowly became discernible through the heavy flakes. As Emma carefully eased the car to a stop, Leroy materialised at her window and rapped it sharply with his knuckles. 

She suppressed a sigh and rolled it down a crack. “Can you at least let me get out of the car first?” she grumbled. 

“We’ve already been waiting for almost an hour, sister,” he growled in reply, as Sneezy and Dopey appeared behind him. “Too much longer in this weather and we won’t be able to get home.” 

“Yeah, well, _none_ of us were expecting a freaking blizzard,” muttered Emma. Leroy grunted in reply and then in protest as David elbowed him out of the way, barely leaving her time to roll the window back up before he was pulling the door open and reaching for her arm to help hoist her from her seat. 

Emma swallowed a snappish retort. As much as she wished she could push him away and inform him that she could do this herself, the irritating truth was that she really _couldn’t_ do this herself. There was barely anything she could truly do by herself these days, and so she bit her tongue and leaned on her father’s supportive arm, her other hand cradling her swollen belly as she dragged herself to her feet. 

In the snow. It came up well past her ankles. 

“What _is_ this, Leroy?” she demanded. 

“You expect _me_ to know? You’re the sheriff and you’ve got magic. You tell me.” 

“Magic?” 

“Obviously.” Leroy glared at her. “You think this kind of snow falls in July on its own? It’s gotta be magic. And even if the snow wasn’t, _that_ sure as hell is!” 

He swung his arm in a wide arc that drew their attention to a wall of white—not just snow so thick it seemed impenetrable but an actual _wall_ , jagged ice thrusting upwards towards the sky, already gathering small drifts of snow on its craggy face. 

“Fuck,” muttered Emma, as David gave a low whistle. 

“Exactly.” Leroy folded his arms across his chest, with a look of immense satisfaction. Emma glanced at David and they exchanged a brief eye-roll. Damn dwarf was only happy when there was a new curse or villain or some other problem he could be the first to discover, and sound the alarm. 

“How did you find it?” she asked him. 

“Me and my brothers check the perimeter every morning,” he replied. 

“Check the _perimeter_?” echoed David. Leroy ignored him. 

“We drive out to the town line first thing every day,” he continued. “Even before breakfast. You never know when something evil’s gonna show up in this town and we like to be prepared.” 

“Fair enough, really,” Emma conceded. 

“Today everything seemed normal until we nearly ran into _this_.” He gestured again. “Ice wall. I got out of the truck and went to investigate but as soon as I got within a foot of it it there was this big gust of wind out of nowhere. It pushed me away, nearly landed me flat on my ass, and then the snow started to fall.” 

“What time was that?”

“Five minutes before we called you,” sneered Leroy. “So at _least_ an hour ago.” 

No way was Emma taking _that_ bait. “And you haven’t tried to approach the wall again?” she asked. 

“Hell, no. We dwarves’ve had enough bad luck at this line, we don’t need one of us turning into a snowman too.” 

“Makes sense,” muttered David, then “Emma, no, you are _not_ going to—” 

“I have to!” She glared at him. “Someone’s got to at least try to get a closer look!” 

“Let me, then—” 

“No, Dad. If this is magic you know it has to be me. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” 

David’s jaw tightened, but he gave her a nod, and Emma began to inch her way through the drifts towards the wall, one hand on her belly and firmly ignoring the snow that was creeping into her socks and melting there. 

As she approached, she could feel the wall begin to resist, pushing back against her, warning her away. She could feel the strength of its magic and see the pattern of the force that had been used to make it—a pattern she had never seen before. Never even heard of, despite her extensive magical studies under the tutelage of an actual fairy king. 

Her lip twitched at the thought of what Frank would say if he heard her call him that. 

She could see the wall clearly now, though the snow had not stopped falling. It was opaque white with an ominous sheen, and the shards that poked out from it looked deadly sharp. 

_Someone sure as fuck doesn’t want us leaving town_ , she thought, _but why?_

( _Trap us inside, kill us off one by one._ ) She could practically hear Killian’s voice in her ear. ( _It’s what I’d do._ ) 

But her husband, clever strategist though he might be, was not the person responsible for this wall. Whoever was had to be someone with magic, powerful magic, unfamiliar magic that filled Emma with a vague sense of dread. 

She wasn’t sure if the vagueness was good or bad. 

Part of her wanted to touch the wall, just slap her hand right on it and feel what it was made of. The same part of her that was always tempted to lean just a bit too far over the ledge of a high-up open window or a bit too hard on the gas when driving along a deserted road. The part that had sent her, two years ago, charging into a cursed Storybrooke with no idea of what she’d encounter there and no exit strategy. The part of her responsible for getting herself cursed and left with no memory of Killian or Henry or her parents or anyone she loved. The part that she definitely should not listen to now. She had a baby on the way, and Killian would be _insufferable_ if she went and got herself cursed again. 

So instead of touching it physically she reached out to it with her magic, probing gently, looking for clues. It was definitely made of ice, real ice that is—simple frozen water and not some crazy magical super-ice. Just water, frozen by magic into an impenetrable structure and held there, rigidly strong and bitterly cold, cold enough to freeze a summer’s day and call up the blizzard currently engulfing them not only here by the wall but also, she sensed, Storybrooke itself and all the surrounding woods. 

“Well, shit.” Emma opened her eyes and withdrew her magic. “That’s gonna suck.” 

She turned and waded her way back through the snow—it was knee-deep now—to find David and the three dwarves waiting for her, their expressions ranging from anxiety to impatience and back again. 

“Did you figure it out?” demanded Leroy, as David said “Are you okay?” 

“Yes, to both questions,” she replied. “But I don’t want to talk about it here.” She realised she was shivering in her thin t-shirt and light leather jacket, and her toes had gone numb. “We should all get home, and I want some hot chocolate and some warmer socks.” 

“You might not have noticed this, sister, but the snow’s waist-deep,” growled Leroy. “Ain’t no way we’re driving away from here.” 

“It’s only waist-deep for some,” Emma couldn’t help retorting. “And as you so helpfully pointed out earlier, I’ve got magic.” 

Closing her eyes and summoning her magic, she held out her hands, palms facing the ground and fingers spread, and called to mind the image of Storybrooke—its streets and its buildings and the forest that surrounded it. She recalled the pattern of the ice wall’s magic and wove her own magic into a similar one, as near as she could make it, and with that pattern she _shoved_ the snow away. Her magic surged from her fingers and plowed through the drifts, from where she stood and out through all of Storybrooke. Snow whirled up into swirling clouds that mixed with the falling flakes of the blizzard then settled themselves neatly along the roadsides and the curbs of the town, leaving the streets beneath dry and clear. Emma took a final quick moment to cast a spell to stop the snow from settling again on the concrete, then opened her eyes and smirked at the dwarf. 

“Well, Leroy, you should be able to drive on—whoa.” Emma pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead as the world began to spin around her and she swayed on her feet. David was by her side in an instant, catching her with an arm around her shoulders and another gripping her wrist. 

“Are you okay?” he demanded. “Is it the baby?” 

She blinked hard, then shook her head and nudged him away with her elbow. “I’m fine, I just went a bit woozy there for a minute. That was more magic than I’ve used in a while and it always takes a toll, plus yeah, the baby’s fine but she does affect my magic.” 

“She?” Leroy looked at her stomach with an expression that was far too interested for Emma’s liking. “You’re having a girl?” he asked, with ostentatious nonchalance.

As though she weren’t aware of the betting pool at the Rabbit Hole on the sex of her baby, thought Emma with a mental scoff. “We don’t know for sure,” she replied, which was strictly speaking true as they had not asked the obstetrician to tell them, and yet... “But I’ve got a feeling.” 

_Make of that what you will, betting pool_. 

She turned to her father. “Anyway. I am okay but it might be better if you drove us back.” 

“Thank the gods for that,” he muttered under his breath, then followed her back to the squad car. He opened the door and held her arm as she lowered herself awkwardly into the passenger seat. Once she was safely in and buckled, he went around the front of the car and she heard him talking to Leroy. 

“You can get back okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Got the truck, and now the roads are clear we’ll be fine. Going to Granny’s, probably be there for a while. You let us know what’s going on, okay Your Highness?” 

“I will,” David promised. 

A minute later he was in the car, turning the keys that were still in the ignition and executing a smooth Y-turn. He gave Emma a smile that was tight around the edges and said “Mind if we have some music?” 

“Not at all.” 

David put the radio on to Storybrooke’s one station and hummed along to a song she didn’t recognise—probably one Snow enjoyed, she kept up with popular music far more than the rest of them did. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel very much not in the rhythm of the beat and though his expression remained calm Emma couldn’t help noticing that his jaw kept clenching. 

She lowered the volume on the radio. “What’s on your mind, Dad?” 

He looked at first like he was going to shrug off the question, but then his jaw tightened again and he burst out “Do you really have an idea of what caused it? The snow, the fucking _ice wall_? Any of it?” 

Emma blinked at his vehemence. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him swear like that before. “I won’t pretend I know much,” she replied. “Not who did it or anything like that. But I did find out some stuff about the magic that made it.” 

“What sort of stuff?” 

“Well… there’s something really weird about it.” 

“Weird how?” 

Emma sighed. “I don’t know exactly. I need to think about it for a bit. Preferably somewhere a bit warmer than this damned car.” 

“Are you cold?” David looked alarmed. “I’ll turn the heater on—” 

“No, it’s okay, we’re nearly back. I’m just going to text Killian and see if he’ll meet us at the station with some cocoa. And socks.” 

David nodded, and they sped on through the stark white landscape. 

-

They arrived at the station a few minutes later. Emma allowed David, quite graciously she thought, to help her out of the car, but when he tried to hold her arm as they entered the building she shook him off with an irritated huff and marched ahead of him straight to her office. There she collapsed into her chair, kicking off her clammy shoes and glaring at them, balefully, as she tried to wriggle some feeling back into her toes. She’d stopped wearing boots or anything with heels when her feet and ankles started to swell, and never had she regretted it more. If she’d been wearing a good pair of knee-high boots today, her feet would still be perfectly dry. 

A cold draft snaked across the floor and around her icy feet, making her shiver. She needed to get her damned wet socks off and was just attempting to work out a way to accomplish that without calling David for help when the outer door opened and Killian sauntered in, bearing a carrier with three faintly steaming takeout cups and a paper bag that she dearly hoped contained some dry footwear. 

He paused in her office doorway, leaning his shoulder against the jamb and regarding her with a stern face and a quirked eyebrow. “Just what have you gotten us into this time, Swan?” he asked. 

“It wasn’t me,” Emma grumbled, eyeing the cups covetously as he moved into the room and set them down on her desk. She grabbed the closest one, but before she could bring it to her lips Killian plucked it from her fingers and replaced it with another. 

“This one’s yours,” he informed her. “Caffeine free.” 

“Damn it,” Emma muttered, but when the sweet and creamy flavour of the hot chocolate hit her tongue and left a trail of soothing warmth all the way to her stomach, she couldn’t suppress a sigh. Absolutely fucking perfect. 

Killian gave her a knowing smirk then crouched down and peeled the wet socks from her feet. He rolled them neatly and set them aside then removed a pair of thick black ones from the paper bag and began tugging them on. Emma watched him as she sipped her chocolate, marvelling a bit at how well he managed with his prosthetic hand. He rarely wore his hook these days—not unless she asked him to—and though she did sometimes miss it she knew that he had come to prefer the prosthetic. Far better dexterity, of course, as well as being a clear declaration that he’d put his past as Captain Hook behind him, and moved on. 

Those socks though… Emma frowned. 

“Where did you get these?” she asked, wriggling her toes in the slightly scratchy black knit. Not the most comfortable sock she’d ever worn, but her foot felt warmer already. 

“They’re mine,” he replied. 

“Yours? I’ve never seen you wear them!” 

“They don’t really suit this realm’s clothing.” He tugged the sock up her leg, over the cuffs of her leggings and halfway up her thigh. 

“These are pirate socks?” 

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Insofar as they are the socks I wore whilst pirating.” 

“Huh.” Emma fingered the top of the sock as Killian moved to her other leg. It was thick and coarse and almost certainly made of wool. Blissfully warm but not what you might call all-weather apparel. “How the hell did you not die of heatstroke in Neverland?” she demanded. “Between these socks and all the leather you really should have.” 

“What a lovely sentiment from my beloved wife,” he quipped, tugging the second sock up her leg and rising to his feet in one swift motion. His hands landed on the arms of her chair and his breath ghosted across her cheek as he leaned in close. “But as I believe I’ve told you, and shown you on a number of occasions, Neverland was a very different place when I was there. And before you argue, Swan—” he pressed his lips lightly against hers “—during my most recent visit I had certain… things on my mind that served to distract me from any atmospheric heat.” He kissed her again, more insistently, reminding her that there had been _other_ heat in Neverland as well, unrelated to the climate. Emma moaned faintly at the memory. 

“A _hem_.” 

Killian pulled back from the kiss and brushed his nose briefly against hers before turning around, smirk fixed firmly in place. 

“Something in your throat, Dave?” 

David didn’t reply, just held Killian’s gaze as he reached down to take one of the cups. 

“Ah ah,” said Killian, “that one’s mine.” He removed the cup from David’s hand and indicated the other one with a nod of his head. “Unless you like your coffee with a shot of rum, you’d best take that one.” 

David glowered. “Rum in your _coffee_?” 

Killian shrugged one shoulder, his eyes amused. “Granny knows the way to a pirate’s heart.” 

“I’ll bet she does,” muttered Emma, not _quite_ under her breath. She refused to think about how much she’d like a bit of rum in her hot chocolate. 

The baby kicked, and she rubbed her belly with a sigh. Just a few more weeks to go. 

“Well, love, are you going to tell me why you summoned me?” asked Killian, leaning back against her desk and crossing one ankle over the other. “And perhaps also what the devil is responsible for this snowfall?” 

“I don’t know exactly,” she replied. “Not yet. But there’s a magic ice wall around the town and I think we can safely say that’s got something to do with it.” 

Killian frowned. “An ice wall?” 

“Yep.” 

“Bloody hell.” 

“Well. Exactly.” 

“And _all_ around the town you say?” 

“Um, I guess we never actually checked that, but I assume so. It wouldn’t make sense to have it blocking the road if you could just detour through the forest to get around it.” 

“Actually, I just got off the phone with Robin,” said David. “He and the Merry Men were in the western woods, on the opposite side of town to where we were. They found a wall there as well, and followed it southwards as far as they could before the snow got too thick and they had to find shelter. They figure it must encircle the whole town.” 

“Trapping us in,” said Emma. “But why?” 

“Kill us all one by one?” suggested Killian, and she gave a smug snort. “What?” he protested. 

“Nothing, I just knew you’d say that.” 

“Well, it’s what I’d do.”

“Yeah, I knew you’d say that too.” 

He gave her a pirate-y glower that was only half in jest. “It’s a solid strategy,” he pointed out. “Siege warfare, you know. There are a number of examples of it throughout history, both in this realm and others.” 

“I mean, I can see that _if_ someone wanted to kill us,” said Emma. “But that still doesn’t answer the question of _why_?” 

“No, and I don’t imagine it will unless we can also answer the question of who. Do we know of anyone who has the power to build a wall made of ice, large enough to encircle a town?” 

Emma shook her head. “I never heard of anything like that, not even when I was studying with Frank. Dad? What about you?” 

David shook his head as well. “I don’t remember meeting anyone with that kind of magic.” 

Emma’s mouth was set in a grim line. “This is so weird,” she said. “That wall is definitely made of magic ice. Er, not like _magic ice_ , I mean normal ice that was frozen by magic—the magical signature shows up really clearly on a reflective surface like that, but I didn’t recognise it at _all_.” 

“I’m not sure I understand,” said David. “Are you saying that different magic looks different somehow?” 

“Yeah, exactly. All magic is unique to the person who casts it, even when they perform the same spell. Kind of like the way two people can write the same thing but it looks different because they have different handwriting.” 

“Does that have anything to do with the colour of the magic?” asked Killian. “You and Regina and Zelena, you all have different colours of smoke.”

“That’s one example, yeah. But it’s more than that. It’s the way the spells are cast. A good magic user can look at a spell someone else has done and read their signature in it. If they’re familiar with the magic used they can even recreate it, or counter it if that’s what they want. It’s how we fight each other, actually. But this ice magic is like nothing I’ve seen or even heard of, which means I can sort of work with it, like to clear the roads, but there’s no way I can work against it, or even safely neutralise it. If I tried to take the wall down with my magic there’s no telling what might happen. The whole thing could blow up, for all I know.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” muttered Killian.

The three of them sipped their drinks in silence for several moments before Emma spoke again. “Killian, do you think you might have any books that go into detail about magical signatures, or the structure of different types of magic?” she asked. “I think if I concentrate I can draw the pattern of the ice magic, then if I had a book with some other pictures I could compare it to…” 

Killian was already pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll text Belle,” he said, “then head back to the shop and help her look. Unless you need me for anything else here?” 

“I need you for many things,” said Emma sweetly, but with a glint in her eye that had his ears turning pink. David made a choking noise. “But I think we’re good.” 

“And what about when you finish work, love? I’d rather not have you driving yourself home in this deluge,” said Killian, gesturing at the windows—outside which the snow was still falling thickly. Emma quickly checked the snow repellent spell she’d put on Storybrooke’s streets. It appeared to be holding even against the blizzard. 

“It should be fi—” 

“I’ll drive her,” said David firmly. 

Emma sighed. 

“I suppose you could drive the Bug, then I’ll poof you back here to get your truck,” she conceded. She didn’t like to poof herself anymore, unsure of how that magic might affect the baby, but there was no reason she couldn’t do it for other people. 

Killian’s shoulders relaxed and he and David exchanged what Emma was sure they thought was a manly nod. She rolled her eyes. 

“I saw that,” said Killian. 

She smirked. “Good.” 

He grinned at her as he pocketed his phone, then drained his coffee cup and tossed it into the trash. “Well, I’ll be off then,” he announced. “If I find any helpful books I’ll bring them home. You won’t be too late, I hope?” 

“Home by six,” she promised. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” He leaned down and kissed her again, with lips that tasted of coffee and rum, his hand lightly stroking her belly. Emma hummed in enjoyment as their tongues touched briefly, but before the kiss could deepen further Killian stood, flashed her a soft smile and David a smirk, then swaggered from the station. 

David turned to her with an expression that had her rolling her eyes again. “Don’t give me that,” she retorted. “You know you like him, you really don’t have to keep up this pretence.”

“I’ll admit he’s not as bad as I thought,” David growled. “But does he have to be so _blatant_ about—” 

“You also know we have sex, Dad,” she interrupted, smirking a bit at David’s wince. “The evidence of it is currently tap dancing on my bladder. Now could you please just help me get up so I can go to the bathroom, then man the phones for the rest of the morning while I try to draw this damned magic?” 

“Yes of course I will.” He glowered at her. “But only because I love you.” 

“And your unborn grandchild.” 

“And my unborn grandchild.” 

“And your 300-year-old pirate son-in-law.” 

“Yeah, don’t push it.” 

-

Emma got home at three minutes past six that evening. Laughter and conversation rang out audibly from inside the house before she’d even opened the door, and the sight that met her eyes when she entered had her hormonal heart melting into goo. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and on the sofa Henry and Belle were sitting with books scattered all around them, poring over the enormous volume Belle had open on her lap. Killian was in the kitchen cooking dinner and singing a sea shanty in what he probably thought was a quiet voice. 

Emma waved a greeting to Belle and Henry as she made her way to the kitchen to wrap her arms around her husband and nuzzle into his shoulder. 

“Hey, love,” he said, craning his neck around to brush a kiss across her forehead. “I’d embrace you properly except I’m presently elbow-deep in raw chicken.” 

“It’s all right.” Emma sighed and leaned into him for a moment, resting the weight of her day against his sturdy back, then dropped a kiss on his neck and let him get back to work. “Do we have any juice?” 

“Apple, aye, and I think there’s some cranberry.” 

“Apple’s good.” 

She retrieved the juice from the fridge and poured herself a large glass, gulping it down as Killian informed her: “I invited Belle to stay for dinner. She found some rather interesting things in the books in the shop and she wanted to tell you about them in person.” 

“That’s fine, she’s always welcome. I’m glad in fact, I have a lot to tell you guys too.” 

Killian finished cutting up the chicken and washed his hands, then pulled off the rubber glove he had on to protect his prosthetic. Tossing it aside, he advanced on her, took the empty glass from her hand and set it down on the counter behind her, trapping her within the cage of his arms and chest. 

“Now then, how about a proper greeting,” he murmured. 

“Mmm, yes.” Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for the kiss she’d wanted that morning at the station, soft and slow and deep. The baby kicked as Killian’s abdomen pressed against her bump and he rubbed a soothing hand over it. 

“Has she been active today, then?” he asked. 

“Auditioning for the Rockettes,” she replied. 

Killian sighed. “Are you going to explain that to me or will I be forced to consult the Google?” 

Emma grinned, not bothering to correct him—she knew he called it ‘the Google’ on purpose. “They’re a dance group in New York, known for their high kicks,” she told him. 

“Ah, well that makes sense.” He kept his hand on her belly, rubbing gentle circles as with his prosthetic he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should probably sit down, love.” 

“I’ve been sitting all day.” 

“Aye, in that dreadful, un-cushioned chair. Go sit on the sofa and I’ll bring you some hot tea. Dinner will be in thirty minutes or so.” 

“All right.”

Though made a show of grumbling about it, the truth—one that he knew as well as she did—was that she adored the care he took of her. It made her feel safe and treasured and not at all like a helpless child, as she always did when subjected to David’s hovering concern. What was suffocating coming from her father, from her husband just felt like love. 

She should probably think about why that was, Emma reflected, but right now she really didn’t want to. There were way too many other things on her mind. 

She went to the living room where Henry scootched over on the sofa to make room for her to sit, then held her steady as she eased herself down. Emma made no objection. It felt like love from her son as well. 

“What’s that?” she asked Belle, nodding at the book in her lap. 

“It’s a book on magic in different realms,” Belle replied. “It’s amazing how different it is and how differently it works from one realm to the next. And of course some realms don’t have it at all, like this one.” 

“Um,” said Emma, “that’s not actually exactly true. Magic exists here, it’s just not as prevalent as magic in the Enchanted Forest, for example. It can be hard to find it. But I promise you, it’s here.” 

Belle’s eyes lit up at this new tidbit of information. “That makes a lot of sense, given what the book says,” she said excitedly. 

“What does it say?” Emma peered over Belle’s shoulder to get a look just as Killian appeared with a cup of fragrant herbal tea. She absently accepted the cup from him, wrapping her hands around the warm mug and inhaling deeply, her eyes still on the pages.

“Well.” Belle looked at Killian, who perched on the arm of the sofa and nodded. “Killian told me what you said about magical patterns and signatures,” she said, “and while this book doesn’t have any drawings, it does make an attempt to describe the kind of magic that characterises each different realm. We thought maybe you could look through those descriptions and see if anything seems to fit the ice magic.” 

“I drew a picture,” said Emma. “It’s in my jacket—” 

“I’ll fetch it.” Killian was on his feet in an instant, heading for the coat hooks in the entryway. 

He returned a moment later with a folded-up piece of paper. “Is this it?” 

“Yeah.” 

Killian unfolded the paper, glanced at it, then showed it to Belle, who took it from him with a frown. 

“It looks like… ice crystals?” she said. 

“Is _that_ what ice crystals look like?” 

“Yeah.” Belle pointed at the paper. “That six-sided crystal formation is typical of snowflakes, though here it’s less ornate and the crystals are all identical, where snowflakes are famously unique, though that’s not—” 

“—strictly speaking true.” Killian chimed in, in unison with her. “There’s no way of knowing if snowflakes are all unique,” he continued, “only that of the ones that have been observed, no two are alike.” 

“Right.” Belle nodded in agreement. “But these crystals _are_ identical, and you see” —she held up the paper so Killian could get a good look— “they appear to be—” 

“—interlocking. Aye. Slotted together on all six sides to form what I can imagine would be an impressively solid and sturdy structure. Virtually—” 

“—impenetrable,” finished Belle, on a note of triumph. 

Emma exchanged a look with Henry over the rim of her mug. “Should I be concerned that you two are finishing each other’s sentences?” she teased. 

“You know what they say about great minds, love,” said Killian with a wink at Belle. “And speaking of, I do seem to recall a description of a magical structure very similar to this one in that book, Belle.” 

“Yes, so do I.” Belle shuffled rapidly through the pages. “Here it is. The kingdom of Arendelle—oh!” 

“What?” asked Emma, “do you know it?” 

“Yeah, I do. I once went there, looking for… well, let’s say I was on a quest. I met a girl called Anna, a princess, sister to the queen. She told me that her sister had a special kind of magic, that she could make it snow indoors and freeze anything she wanted. Her parents had feared that magic but they had been lost many years before, leaving her and Elsa—the queen—alone. But now—er, I mean, then—they had just learned they had an aunt their parents never told them about. One who had similar powers to Elsa’s.” 

“Interesting,” remarked Killian. “Arendelle is a kingdom far to the north of the Enchanted Forest. I was there once myself, probably at least a century before Belle. From what I recall it was not that dissimilar to other far north kingdoms, with cool dry summers and long, snowy winters. I suppose their royal family being endowed with magic that controls ice and snow could be quite useful given that climate, though I admit I never heard anything about it during my time there.” 

“Okay,” said Emma, “let me just see if I get this. According to the book, the kingdom of Arendelle is known for magic that has a pattern like the one I saw on the ice wall, and according to Belle the queen there what, like, thirty years ago had the power to freeze things at will. Is that it?” 

“Yes,” said Belle. “But don’t forget the aunt. Anna told me that her sister would never hurt anyone, but she was highly suspicious of that aunt.” 

“Do you remember the aunt’s name?” asked Killian. 

Belle shook her head. “Sorry, no. I’m not sure Anna ever mentioned it.” 

“Right,” said Emma, rubbing her forehead. “So we’ve got Ice Queen Elsa and the mysterious aunt. But even assuming one of them is responsible for this wall, the question is still _why_? Why here and why now, and what could they possibly hope to gain by it?” 

“And also,” added Killian, “how did they get here? Arendelle and the Enchanted Forest don’t share any borders that I’m aware of, so how would anyone from there have been caught up in Zelena’s curse?” 

“Maybe they used one of the portals.” 

The adults all turned to look at Henry, who had been listening quietly to their conversation. He scowled at their expressions of surprise. “ _You_ know,” he said. “The portals Zelena cut with the subtle knife, so she could bring the curse magic into this realm. She’s always been shady about how many she actually made, and where they opened to.” 

“That’s a good point, kid” said Emma. “So you’re thinking, what, this person slipped in through one of Zelena’s portals after her curse was cast?” 

“You’ve got to admit it’s possible.” 

“It is, though wouldn’t someone have noticed some random person just showing up in Storybrooke?” 

“Not necessarily. People weren’t very observant under that curse,” Henry pointed out. 

“True, but what about now the curse is broken?”

“Zelena did catch a few people who weren’t in Storybrooke the first time,” Belle pointed out. “Robin and his men, and Mulan. Any new faces in town now that the curse is broken I guess most people would just write off as another like them.” 

“Hmm,” Emma mused. “Okay. But. Depending on when this person came to Storybrooke they’ll have to have been doing something since they got here. Working, I mean, making a living. Staying somewhere. Granny’s, probably, since the curse wouldn’t have given them a place of their own. Which means _someone’s_ bound to have noticed them, even if it didn’t immediately strike them as suspicious. People know way too much about each other’s business in this town. I’ll ask around, and check with Granny.” 

“Good idea,” said Belle. “And maybe your mother has some business records she could look into, in case the person’s been here a while?” 

Emma nodded. “It’s worth a try.” 

The oven timer began to beep and Killian got up to check the chicken. “Henry, will you set the table, lad?” he called behind him. 

“Yeah, okay.” Henry hopped to his feet and followed his stepfather, leaving Emma and Belle both looking thoughtfully at Emma’s drawing and at the description of the Arendellian magic. 

“What do you remember about Anna?” Emma asked in a quiet voice. “Honestly?” 

“She was nice.” Belle’s eyes grew hazy as she fell into the memory. “Kind. Adventurous. She wanted to help. I don’t think there’s any way she could be involved in this.” 

“And what about her sister?” 

“I don’t know. Anna swore Elsa would never hurt anyone, but the way she said it… well, it kind of made me think that maybe she was trying to convince herself as much as me.” 

Emma traced the pattern of interlocking ice crystals with her fingertip. “This Elsa worries me a bit,” she said. 

Belle gave a solemn nod. “Me too,” she agreed. 

-

The next morning when Emma awoke the sun was blazing from a cloudless sky, reflecting off the crisp white drifts of fresh-fallen snow with blinding intensity. 

Snowdrifts, Emma noted, that reached higher than her Bug on the sidewalk side, though the street-side at least was clear thanks to her snow-repellent spell. 

“Damn, I’m glad I cast that spell,” she said as she stood at their bedroom window looking out at the town, with Killian rubbing the sore muscles in her neck and shoulders. “We’d be completely snowed-in if I hadn’t.” 

“Aye, love, that was some quick thinking,” he agreed. 

“It should be pretty easy to get to—” 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“You were about to say ‘it should be pretty easy to get to work’,” he replied. 

“Yeah.” She turned to scowl at him. “I was.” 

“And I said ‘no’,” he continued calmly. “I’ll drive you to the station. And if you have to go out in the squad car, let your father drive.” 

“Killian—” 

“No.” 

“But—” 

“Emma,” he said gently, “I know you think I worry unnecessarily, but my love, please consider. Another woman would already be on maternity leave, spending these last few weeks with her feet up and allowing her doting husband to actually do some bloody doting.” He gave her a mock scowl, to which she returned an exaggerated eye-roll. “Now, of course that’s not who you are and of course I understand that. I love you for that, and would never try to change you. But darling, I’m afraid I have to draw the line at you putting yourself and the baby in potentially dangerous situations, when it is so unnecessary for you to do so.” 

“It’s just _driving,_ Killian, it’s not that dangerous.” 

“Driving on roads that may be free of snow but are doubtless still slick with ice in this cold, when you know you’re prone to sudden leg cramps and might have Braxton-Hicks contractions, or even real ones if the little lass decides to make an early debut. You could end up buried in a snowdrift, or worse. Please, love, just let your father and me do this one small thing for you.” 

“Fine,” Emma huffed, “if you _insist_.” 

“I do.” 

She could hear the smile in his voice and she leaned back against his chest, snuggling into him as he wrapped his arms around her, his hand and stump resting on their child. 

It felt like love.

-

Killian dropped her off at the station bundled up in a wool coat she’d magically enlarged to fit over her belly and an enormous scarf that was wrapped around her neck five times and still dangled down nearly to her knees. He fiddled with the scarf until he was satisfied it covered her as best it could, then handed her a bag containing an extra pair of his woolly socks, kissed her forehead, and reminded her sternly to let David do the driving. 

Emma was grinning widely as she came through the doors, flushed and pleased at his coddling, but the smile faded quickly from her face when she got a look at the expression on David’s. 

“What’s happened?” she demanded. 

“Happy called,” he replied. “We need to get to the town line, _now_.” 

“Happy?” Emma repeated, as apprehension gripped her chest. “Not Leroy?” 

David’s jaw clenched. “No.” 

“Right,” said Emma. “Let’s go.

-


	2. Frozen

The trip to the town line felt eerily similar to the previous day’s; despite the lack of snowfall and the relative speed of the journey, the thick snow piled up along the roadside and weighing down the branches of the trees gave the landscape a bleak, otherworldly feel and deepened the sense of foreboding that already tingled between Emma’s shoulder blades. David drove calmly, his face solemn but his jaw un-clenched, and Emma in the passenger seat snuggled deep into her scarf and coat and wriggled her toes—today ensconced in her oldest boots, magically altered to fit over her swollen ankles and Killian’s thick socks—deeply grateful for the external warmth of her clothing when she could not banish the internal chill of that ominous tingle. 

When they arrived at the wall the dwarves were waiting, all of them, in a circular huddle at the side of the road. The air around them seemed mournful, heavy with sorrow. Emma shivered, and not from the cold.

They turned as the squad car came to a stop. Doc hurried over to assist Emma out of the car before David even had a chance to unbuckle his seatbelt. She accepted Doc’s arm with a grateful nod and a worried frown. “What’s going on?” she asked him.

“You’d better see for yourselves,” he replied. “We’re—we’re not actually sure.”

She kept her arm in his as they approached the others, who moved aside so she could see what stood at the centre of their circle.

It was Leroy, and he was—

“Is he _frozen_?” Emma exclaimed.

Leroy’s arms were raised in an emphatic gesture and his mouth was open. He looked caught in mid-tirade, and Emma could almost believe that he might start it up again at any moment were it not for the unnatural blue tinge to his skin and the shimmer of a magical signature, in the pattern of interlocking ice crystals that was now all too familiar to her.

Sneezy turned to her with a mournful, imploring look. “Is he alive?” he pleaded.

Emma closed her eyes and reached out with her magic. The freezing spell was locked tight around Leroy, nearly as impenetrable as the ice wall itself, but she could just detect, faint and worryingly distant, the slow beat of a heart.

“He’s alive,” she said, releasing her magic with a sigh and leaning heavily on Doc. “But I have no idea how long he’ll stay that way. We need to get him to the hospital.”

“Can’t _you_ do anything?” Sneezy protested. “It’s magic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s not my magic, or any magic that I’ve ever seen before.” Sneezy sneezed—in a reproachful way, Emma couldn’t help feeling—and she glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Look, I’m working on it, okay? I’ll figure it out, but I need some time. For now, take him to the hospital. Tell Whale to keep him stable but don’t try anything stupid.”

She swept her glare over the assembled dwarves, who nodded obediently. Carefully, they picked Leroy up by his outstretched arms and carried him towards their truck. Emma snagged Happy’s elbow to hold him back. “What were you doing out here again?” she asked in a whispered hiss. “Wasn’t yesterday enough?”

“Leroy insisted that we check the town line, like normal,” he protested. “The roads were clear, we didn’t think it would be a problem. He told us to stay in the truck while he went to investigate.”

Emma sighed. “Of course he did. What happened then?”

“He went up really close to the wall,” said Happy. “We couldn’t really see what he was doing but we heard him shouting all of a sudden and we got out of the truck but then he went silent. By the time we got to him he was frozen and whatever he was shouting at was gone.”

“Okay. Thanks, Happy.”

The dwarf nodded and ran off to join his brothers. Emma frowned at the place at the side of the road where they had been congregated. The snow still lay in high, soft drifts, trampled here and there by boot prints—and nothing else.

David came up behind her. “So what do you make of this?” he asked. “Any clues?”

“No physical ones. The magic left a signature but I still have no idea who’s casting it. I need more information.”

“From where? Didn't Hook find anything in his books?”

“He did, and it was really helpful, actually," she bristled "We found out that the magic comes from a place called Arendelle.”

“Arendelle?” David repeated.

“Yeah." Emma looked over sharply to find him frowning. "Why, does that mean something to you?”

“Yeah, kind of. I knew a guy from there once, name of Kristoff. He sold ice.”

“Huh. Interesting career choice given the nature of his country's magic,” she remarked.

David chuckled. “He said something similar actually, something about losing his job when the kingdom froze—" He broke off abruptly as a brisk wind whirled up, whipping sharply-frozen snowflakes into their faces. "Oof," he sputtered. "Let's get back to the car."

They did. Emma allowed him to help her into her seat, then when he slid into his took up the conversation again. "So, you were saying something about the kingdom freezing? Putting the ice salesman out of business?" she pressed.

"Yep," said David. "That was the gist. I don’t remember exactly what he said, it’s been kind of a long time.”

“No kidding,” she quipped. It was always weird to think about these things happening well before she was born, to parents who looked no older than she did. 

David grinned at her as he put the car into gear. “I’ll head back to the station and see if I can dredge up any more helpful memories from my old brain," he said. "What are you going to do?”

Emma's mouth twisted wryly. “I think I need to have a talk with Zelena.”

-

Emma knocked on the door of Regina’s new house, then remembered it had a doorbell and pressed that. She bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited for Regina to appear, and wondered vaguely what it meant that the door of the house was painted a bright green. Zelena’s choice, obviously, but Regina must have agreed to it. And, Emma supposed, Robin must also like green. Regina would have wanted red and been outnumbered. Huh. 

It was a weird balance in that house, to say the least.

Snow had, of course, offered Regina her old house back once the curse had broken, but Regina, to pretty much everyone’s surprise, had declined.

“That’s the mayor’s house,” she’d said. “I’m not the mayor anymore.”

“And… how does that make you feel?” Snow had asked. Both she and Emma were worried that Regina would be resentful of the loss of power and influence but instead she’d seemed relieved. Glad to shake off the responsibility of the town her curse had created and her sister’s curse and brought back.

“Eh,” Regina shrugged. “You’re the one who was born to be a queen, you deal with it. I will be getting my own place though,” she continued, as Snow gaped at her. “That loft is far too small for three adults, especially when you want, er”—she flushed a slightly blotchy shade of red—“privacy.”

“Oh! Um, okay. Sure. Of course.” Snow’s eyes were wide as she exchanged a Look with Emma. “Thats… um, that’s fine.”

Emma suspected her mother would have objected were it not for how much better Regina seemed now that she wasn’t the mayor anymore. She was softer, far less snarky, and so glowingly happy despite the continued prickly relations between her and Zelena that neither Emma nor Snow wanted to risk her chance at redemption—or Zelena’s—by shaking up a situation that was doing both sisters so much good.

Even Zelena, though she remained resentful and snide and took every opportunity to make life difficult for every person she encountered, Regina above all others, had improved. Emma thought back to the week before when Regina had presented her with a peculiar baby gift: a onesie embroidered with tiny silver hooks and white swans, apparently by Zelena herself.

“She’s taken up needlepoint,” Regina had said. “Don’t ask.”

So while Zelena may not yet be ready to _admit_ she wanted to make amends, she did appear ready to make them. And that was good enough for Emma.

The green door swung open and Regina appeared. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Emma, I—I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry, I probably should have called, but it’s kind of an emergency. Is this a bad time?”

Regina gave her a hard look. “Are you here as Emma or as the sheriff?”

“As the sheriff, but it’s nothing bad, I promise. I mean, it’s not bad for you.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s about the ice wall and… well, there's been a development.”

“I see.” Regina still didn’t move aside. “I don’t know how much help I can be. I’ve never seen magic like this before.”

“No, me neither. But that’s not why I’m here. I actually wanted to talk to Zelena.”

Regina’s eyes widened. “Zelena! But she hasn't left the house, she couldn’t—”

“I don’t think she had anything to do with it!” said Emma hurriedly. “Really, it’s nothing bad, I promise. I just need to ask her some questions about—um, let’s call it a related matter.”

“Well. Okay.” Regina stepped back and let her in. “Zelena’s in her parlour.”

Emma blinked. “Her _where_ now?”

Zelena’s parlour turned out to be a small nook off the living room that might have been intended as a study or an office. It had a large window that faced the street and a green velvet sofa opposite where Zelena reclined, one hand delicately stroking the fabric’s nap, regarding them with a haughty glare as they entered. Despite being on house arrest she was as impeccably dressed as ever, and with her hair styled in perfect waves. Emma resisted the urge to smooth her own hair and check her coat for rogue pastry crumbs.

“Sheriff,” Zelena sneered. “To what do I owe this… _honour_?”

She infused the word with such disdain that Emma’s hackles rose and her magic sparked. She clenched her fist. “I just need to ask you some questions. Would you mind coming into the living room where we all can sit?” No way did she intend to stand in the doorway like a supplicant as Zelena held court in her tiny domain, she thought.

Zelena allowed the silence to stretch just past the point of discomfort. “Of course,” she said finally, in a sickly sweet voice. “Anything to aid law enforcement in this delightful little hamlet I now call home.”

Emma ignored the snark and turned back into the living room, relieved when she managed to sit herself in an armchair with relative grace. Zelena followed, haughty eyebrow still raised, and sat down in the matching armchair across from her.

“I’ll, uh, make some tea, I guess,” said Regina, disappearing through the door before they could make any reply.

Zelena folded her hands in her lap and gave Emma such a perfectly attentive look that the mockery behind it was clear. “So what can I assist you with today, Sheriff?”

Emma decided there was no point beating around the bush. “The subtle knife,” she replied, watching Zelena closely. Had she not, she might have missed the faint twitch in the witch’s cool expression.

“I’m not certain I follow you.”

“Oh, but _I’m_ certain you do. The knife you held at my son’s throat. The one you used to cut the portals through which you brought the curse and Storybrooke back to this realm. The mythical blade known as Æsahættr, which by all rights you shouldn’t even have found much less been able to use.”

“Oh yes,” said Zelena. “That knife.”

Emma didn’t dignify that with a reaction. She simply fixed Zelena with a level stare and said “Tell me how you used it.”

“Just as you said.” Zelena examined her fingernails. “I cut portals between realms—”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“ _You_ didn’t cut the portals. The knife-bearer did. The subtle knife can be wielded by anyone but only the bearer can cut between realms. And you are not the bearer.”

Regina chose that moment to return, carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups, which she placed on the table between their two armchairs. “My my,” Zelena purred as Regina poured. “Aren’t we well-informed.”

Emma accepted a delicate porcelain cup and took a sip. “Who’s the bearer?” she inquired, her voice as cool and sweet as Zelena’s own.

Zelena accepted tea from her sister with a graceful incline of her head. Emma could almost see her weighing up her options. “You’ll be pleased to hear it’s someone you’re already quite well acquainted with,” she said after another long pause. “An old friend, you might say.”

Emma felt her stomach clench, but at the same time she couldn’t say she was surprised. “Walsh,” she said grimly.

“Walsh,” Zelena confirmed. “Or, as I once preferred to call him, the Wizard of Oz.”

“Of fucking course.” Emma drank tea as her mind whirred. “Insecure liar, couldn’t find his ass with both hands. He _would_ be.”

“Just as you say.” Zelena sipped delicately, her eyes alight with malicious amusement.

“Which reminds me, actually,” said Emma, struck by a sudden thought. “I never got a chance to ask you—why did you impersonate him? Under the curse, I mean? It was a lot of trouble for you to go to, maintaining a presence in town both as yourself and as him. You didn’t really need to be him posing as my husband in order to keep me in line, there were any number of other cover stories you could have used for me. So why bother?”

For a moment it looked like Zelena wouldn’t reply, then she gave a little shrug and set down her teacup. “Initially the intent was for him to come to Storybrooke and take up the role himself,” she said. “He was very much looking forward to it, in fact. I’m afraid you upset him rather badly back in New York, resisting his attempts to woo you then pushing him off a roof. The male ego is delicate, as I’m sure we all know.”

Emma snorted and Regina gave a wry nod.

“But as time went on I found that despite the bother of maintaining, as you say, two identities, it was easier than dealing with an accomplice who was becoming rather worryingly unhinged on the subject of you and your pirate. He had, I regret to say, some dreadfully unsavoury intentions towards you both. And darling, I may be wicked, but there are lines even I won’t cross.”

Emma stared at her, shaken by the news of how venomous Walsh’s hatred had grown but also strangely touched at this unexpected display of female solidarity. “I—well, I appreciate that,” she replied. “I probably shouldn’t because after all you _drugged me_ and took away my memories so it’s not like you have an unblemished track record when it comes to consent, but still. Killian hasn’t murdered anyone for a while now, and I’d hate to see him fall off that wagon because Walsh can’t take a fucking hint. So thank you.”

Zelena gave a gracious nod.

“However, I am going to need to talk to Walsh. I’m guessing you don’t know exactly how many portals he cut?”

“I do not.”

“Or where he cut them to?”

“There are a number between this realm and Oz, and several more between Oz and the Enchanted Forest. More than that I could not say.”

“Right. So, Walsh. Where is he?”

“Mouldering in my dungeons, I should imagine,” smirked Zelena. “It’s where I left him.”

Emma felt her patience wearing thin. “And which dungeons are those?”

“The one in the Wizard’s palace, naturally.”

“In Oz.”

“Where else?”

Emma sighed. This conversation was giving her a new appreciation of the expression _pulling teeth_. “I don’t suppose you can remember where exactly he cut all these portals between here and Oz?”

Zelena’s smirk widened into a triumphant grin. “I might be able to dredge up that memory. For a price.”

“We’ll negotiate terms once I’ve convinced someone to travel through a damned portal to a damned land full of damned munchkins and cursed apples and shit,” Emma snapped. The baby kicked, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. “Goddamn it I do not need this right now,” she muttered.

“Robin can go.”

Both Emma and Zelena turned to stare at Regina. “What?” she demanded, glaringback at them. “He’s been there before, and so have his men. They’ll know the quickest way to get to the palace and also how to get into it without attracting notice. They’re thieves, after all.”

“And you think he’d agree to do that?”

Regina’s eyes grew soft. “If I ask him to, he will.”

“Well. That’d be really great if he could. Thank you, Regina.”

Regina nodded, then headed for the door. “I’ll go call him now.”

The moment the door swung shut, Emma turned to Zelena, her jaw set and her eyes hard. “Well, then, witch,” she said coolly. “Let’s negotiate.”

-

When Emma left Regina’s house she called David and was surprised when she got his voice mail.

“Dad?” she said, after the beep. “You said to call you when I finished with Zelena and—well, I’m finished. It’s no problem to walk back to the station though, if you’re busy, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll meet you there.” She hung up and headed down the street, rather grateful for the exercise and the time to think, but wondering vaguely what could possibly be preventing her father from answering her call when he’d been so insistent on her not trying to walk back.

When she arrived at the station, the phone was ringing and David was nowhere to be seen.

“Dad?” she called, in case he might have taken a break to go to the bathroom or make a cup of coffee, despite the creeping feeling on the back of her neck that told her this was not the case. You can always tell when a place is empty, she thought, especially when it shouldn’t be. “Dad!” she tried again. Nothing.

The phone began to ring again and she picked it up.

“Sheriff Jones,” she said shortly.

“Emma! Oh thank goodness!” It was Snow, her voice shrill. “I tried your cell but you weren’t answering and then there was no answer at the station and—”

“Mom? Mom!” Emma gripped the receiver tightly as a feeling of cold dread settled in her gut. “Mom, calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s your father. Oh Emma. I can’t—I don’t—”

“What, Mom! Tell me!”

“I’m sorry, Emma, but I think—I think you have to come see for yourself.”

-

David’s arm was stretched out in front of him, in protest perhaps, or supplication. His expression was apprehensive and with a dawning fear behind the eyes, and his skin bore the same tinge of blue she’d seen on Leroy’s just hours before. A faint pattern of interlocking ice crystals was visible in the magical signature that shimmered across it.

“What’s happened to him?” Snow’s eyes were wide and her face pale. “What is this, Emma?”

“He’s frozen.”

“ _What_?”

“We saw the same thing this morning.” Emma closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “It was Leroy then. Mom, I’m going to need you to sit down and calmly tell me exactly what happened.”

“Okay.” Snow drew a deep breath then sat down on one of the elegant ornamental sofas that graced the study in the Mayor’s house. She twisted her hands in her lap and breathed deeply as Emma sat beside her. “David texted me after you’d left to go talk to Zelena,” Snow began, speaking slowly. “We always tell each other where you go, just in case something happens.” 

Emma managed to suppress an eye roll. “Bit weird, but also probably smart,” she said. “Go on.”

“I offered to drop by and bring him something hot to drink, and he said actually he’d just got a call from someone living nearby who needed help digging their shed out of a snowdrift, so he said he'd just come home instead and have a cup of coffee here. He did, and we chatted for a few minutes, then he left. About ten minutes after that I heard a shout. I couldn’t hear any words, but I knew it was David and I just had this—this _feeling_ he was in trouble. I ran in the direction I thought the sound had come from and then I saw him—” her voice broke, and Emma reached out to take her hand. Snow gripped it firmly and continued. “I saw him standing there, just like this, in front of a house,” she said. “No one else was around, and when I knocked on the door there was no answer. Sean and Ashley live just across the street from it though and they also heard the shouting and came to see what was going on. They helped me get him home.”

“Do Sean and Ashley know whose house it was?”

“They say no, they’ve never seen the person. Whoever it is keeps to themselves.”

“And Dad didn’t say who’d called? He didn’t mention a name?”

Snow shook her head. “He did refer to ‘her’ shed, so I guess it was a woman. But other than that, I don’t know.”

“What about the address?”

“Oh, yes. I do remember that, I’ll write it down for you. It’s only a block or so from here.”

“Thanks.”

Snow scribbled the address in a small notebook, tore out the page and handed it to Emma, who folded it and put it in her pocket.

Snow was looking at David again, her hand resting on her belly, where her baby bump was still barely visible. “What do you think I should do now?” she asked. Her voice sounded so small, thought Emma, and despairing. Being pregnant was hard enough without having to go through it alone, that much she knew from experience. However more of a strain carrying a baby was on a 30-year-old body compared to a 17-year-old one, this pregnancy overall had been so much easier than her first, solely because Killian had been there from the start to rub away her aches and bring her all the weird food she craved, and soothe her when the hormones took over and she burst into sobs for no reason. She squeezed her mother’s hand again.

“I think we need to take Dad to the hospital,” she said. “The dwarves took Leroy there this morning, and I should really check up on that, see if Whale can tell us anything. And then you should come home with me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Mom. You shouldn’t be alone. It’s weird enough that you’re living in this house still, please don’t make me worry about you being here without Dad. You can stay in our guest room until we figure out how to unfreeze him.”

“And you think—you think he’ll be okay?”

Emma weighed the merits of honesty versus reassurance, and opted for honesty. “I can’t promise anything,” she said. “I still don’t know enough about what is even going on. But Dad’s alive. I can sense his heart beating. I just need to figure out this ice magic, then maybe I can find a way to undo the spell.”

“Okay.” Snow drew a deep breath, then gave her daughter an impulsive hug. “Thank you, Emma,” she whispered. “Just—thanks for being here. I don’t think I could do this alone.”

“You won’t have to,” Emma assured her, hugging back.

-

“They’re frozen. What more do you want me to say?” Whale was in full asshole mode today, and Emma was not in the mood for it.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Maybe something about _why_ they’re frozen? Or _how_? Or what _you,_ a _medical professional,_ are going to do about it?”

“Ah but this is magic not medicine, and magic’s your department.” Whale smirked and Emma seethed, sparks crackling from her fingertips. He held up his hands defensively. “Hey, don’t hex _me_ ,” he said “I’ve never seen anything like this before either. I’ve run all the tests I can but all I can tell you is that they’re alive. Their heart rate and other functions are slowed considerably but not stopped. It’s a bit like what would theoretically happen if a body was held in a cryogenic freeze.”

Emma forced her magic down and groped for calm. “So in theory they should be okay as they are, until we can figure out how to un-freeze them,” she said. 

“In theory. But cryogenic freezing, again in theory, would be done under carefully controlled conditions, whereas this sort of ad hoc version is unpredictable by its very nature. I don’t think it’s safe to assume that just because they’re alive now that means they’ll stay that way for any amount of time.”

“Great,” sneered Emma. “That’s so reassuring.”

“Hey, you want comfort or you want the truth?” Whale snapped back.

Emma sighed. “I’d prefer comfort but I _need_ the truth. So. Thank you, I guess.”

“Ever the gracious princess,” mocked Whale. “I’ll keep them carefully monitored, Your Highness, and let you know if anything changes.”

-

Snow and Emma said goodbye at the hospital, with hugs and a promise that Snow would return home to pack some things, then go straight to Emma and Killian’s and let herself in with their spare key.

“Henry’s with Neal today but he should be back this afternoon and Killian usually gets home just after five,” said Emma. “I’ll text them both to expect you. Just, you know, make yourself at home in the guest room and help yourself to whatever.”

Snow gave her a final hug and then walked off, her hands buried in the pockets of her coat and her knitted beret set at a jaunty angle. Emma watched her go until she disappeared around a corner then turned and headed in the other direction—back to the station where she guessed she’d have no choice but to spend the afternoon dealing with the phone calls she’d really hoped to be able to pawn off on David. On her way she sent Henry a text then phoned Killian to fill him in on everything that had happened. 

She hung up just as the station came into view, slipped her phone into her pocket—then stopped dead in her tracks.

“You!” she exclaimed. “What the—how the—what the _hell_ are you doing here?”

“Hello, Emma.” The woman’s smile was still the same, her voice so familiar. “I’m so pleased you remember me.”

“ _Remember_ you? Of course I—” didn’t remember her, Emma realised. Hadn’t, until just now. “I—”

“Yes, I can imagine this has come as a bit of a shock,” the soothing voice continued. “Don’t worry, though, it will all make sense very soon. I can’t wait for us to be a family again, my darling.”

The woman held up her hand, cupped around something Emma couldn’t see, and blew gently. Before she could react, a stream of silvery dust flew into her eyes and settled there.

Then shattered.

-

When Killian arrived home that evening he could smell the cookies from the porch. Shortbread, unless he missed his guess. Sweet things in this realm he often found overwhelming, but a nice crumbly shortbread cookie with a cup of coffee was another thing entirely, and he smiled in eager anticipation. Snow, he reckoned, must have spent the afternoon engaged in what Emma informed him was called ‘stress baking.’

“It’s a way of feeling in control when things get out of hand,” Emma had explained. “She used to do it a lot under the first curse. It makes a kind of sense, I guess. When your life is more than you can handle, at least you know that if you just follow the recipe then the cookies will turn out the way they should.”

Killian unlocked the door and called out a greeting then headed to the kitchen to find Snow peering into the oven and Henry sitting at the table playing a game on his phone and making shocking inroads into the pile of cookies stacked high on a plate next to him.

“Hey, Dad,” he greeted around a mouthful of them.

“Well, lad, I see you’ve started without me,” Killian teased. 

“Mmm,” was all Henry could manage in response. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” said Snow nervously. “I mean, I hope it won’t ruin his dinner.”

Killian smiled. “Highly unlikely," he reassured her. "The lad’s fourteen. He could eat a horse and it wouldn’t ruin his dinner.”

“Well, that’s good.” Snow returned his smile with an anxious one of her own. “I’m sorry to take over the kitchen like this, it’s just—”

He waved her apology away. “Don’t worry yourself, love. It’s fine. Emma told me everything and honestly a little stress baking seems like a perfectly rational method of coping.”

Snow’s shoulders relaxed and her smile softened. “They’re spritz cookies,” she said. “Would you like some?”

“Spritz?” he inquired. “I’ve not heard of those. They smell like shortbread.”

“Oh, well, yeah, I guess they basically are. Just butter and sugar and flour. But you make spritz into shapes with this little press, you see, and then you decorate them with coloured sugar. They’re traditional at Christmas which isn’t for months yet, but what with all the snow they just felt right.”

Killian picked up a cookie and examined it. Small and delicate and crumbly, shaped like a four-petaled flower and sprinkled with red sugar. He nibbled the edge of a petal. “It’s delicious,” he said, and tossed the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “Mmm. Reminds me of the butter tea cakes I had once as a lad. Serinakaker, I believe they were called.”

“Oh, yes!” Snow exclaimed. “I think those are the same. Spritz is the word they use in this realm, but now you mention it serinakaker is what we called them in the Enchanted Forest. This recipe is my grandmother’s, or as close as I can remember it. She got it from the Queen of Arendelle.”

“Arendelle?” asked Killian sharply.

“Yes.” Worry creased Snow’s brow again. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“I don’t know.” Killian accepted the plate loaded with cookies that she offered him, and the mug of coffee. “Perhaps. It’s certainly peculiar.”

“Really? Why?”

“Why don’t you take a break from that for a moment, and come sit down?” he suggested. “Henry and I can fill you in on all we know.”

“Yeah.” Snow nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.

-

They had just finished bringing Snow up to speed and had begun to discuss what they might have for dinner, when the front door swung open without warning and Emma entered. Stomped in, really, with snowy boots that she didn’t bother to remove or even wipe before she came inside. She didn’t say hello or so much as cast them a glance, but charged straight up the stairs as fast as any eight-months-pregnant woman could.

“Emma?” called Snow.

There was no reply.

Killian, Henry, and Snow exchanged baffled looks.

“Do you think something else has happened?” Henry asked.

“I don’t know,” Killian replied, “but I think I'd best go find out. Normally when she gets upset I give her space until she’s ready to talk, but what with all the peculiar happenings lately I think I’d feel better knowing what exactly has gone wrong.”

“Me too.” Snow was already on her feet.

“And me,” said Henry. 

“All right,” he agreed.

Killian headed up the stairs, trailed by the other two. They followed the sound of stomping and muttering to the master bedroom, where Emma was tossing clothes into a suitcase.

“Swan?” said Killian, careful to keep his voice calm despite the fear blooming in his chest. “What’s going on, love?”

“ _Not_ your _love_ ,” she snarled, not looking at him.

“What?” he choked, as Snow gave a sharp gasp.

“I’m fucking sick of this.” Emma threw a sweater at the suitcase. “Sick of pretending. Pretending to love you, pretending not to hate everything about this joke of a life.”

“Emma!” cried Snow.

“Oh, right.” Emma finally looked at them, to shoot a glare at her mother. “I forgot you were here, _Mom_.” She made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “If I can really call you that after you fucking abandoned me like a piece of trash.”

Snow made a strangled noise and Killian turned to lay his hand on her arm. “Let me,” he mouthed, and she nodded, though her face was stark white and stricken. Henry put his arm around her.

Killian took a step towards his wife. “What’s happened to you, Emma?” he asked softly.

“What happened is I had some realisations,” she sneered, glaring at him with such malevolence he had to force himself not to step back again. “What happened is I decided to stop pretending that I’m happy when I’m not. I _hate_ this.” She spat the word. “I hate living like this and I hate you and I hate this _thing_ you put inside me.”

Killian’s heart gave a vicious lurch and his head spun, the blood pounding in his ears and through his aching chest, through the hole where his heart should be. Where it had been, until Emma ripped it out. He barely noticed any of that, though, barely heard Snow’s shocked gasp or Henry’s cry. He kept his focus all on Emma, on her voice that rang with such conviction and on her beautiful face—hard now, and twisted, her eyes ice-cold. There was no lie behind her words.

“Love—” he began gently.

Her lip curled and she snarled. “Don’t _call_ me that!”

He forced the pain of her words away and inched closer. “Love,” he insisted. “Because you _are_ my love, no matter what’s come over you.” If Killian Jones believed any single thing in any realm it was that Emma Swan loved him. She could stab him through the heart and he would still believe it.

He swallowed hard and looked her in the eye. “My true love,” he whispered. “That’s what you are.” 

She shuddered violently.

“Mom?” Henry’s voice broke the tension between them, high and childlike, questioning. Emma tore her gaze from Killian’s and rounded on her son with malicious glee.

“And _you_ ,” she spat. “I can barely stand to look at you. You look just like your father, did you know that?”

Henry gulped.

“You know what he did to me? That useless, dickless, piece of—”

“Emma!” Snow glared at her daughter as she pulled Henry closer. “Why are you saying these things?”

“Oh, ‘these things’? The truth, you mean? Yes, I can see how _you_ might object to that.” Emma spun on her heel and snatched another sweater from the closet, then tossed it over her shoulder into the suitcase.

Killian shot Snow and Henry a quelling look. He approached his wife again, slowly, as he would a violently drunken sailor. “Emma.” He caught her wrist, gently, in a firm hold but loose enough that she could pull away. She shuddered again, but made no other move. He let his thumb brush across her palm as he crept closer. “Darling,” he murmured, “whatever this is, whatever’s happened to you, we can fix it.”

Emma’s shudder became a trembling, a violent, quivering tension in every limb. “No,” she growled. But she did not pull her hand from his. Killian exhaled a slow breath.

“I love you, Emma Swan,” he said softly. “And I know that you love me too.”

“I don’t,” she replied, but her voice was no longer a growl, her words no longer a knife in his gut.

“Yes you do,” he insisted, still gently, still stroking her hand. “And I love you more than I could once have imagined loving anyone or anything. Enough to know that these words aren’t yours, this isn’t _you_. You can’t push me away, my love, you’ve tried before. I won’t go.”

“Neither will I.” There was no rebuke in Snow’s voice now, just determination. “I did once before, but never again. You’re my daughter, Emma, my baby girl, and I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going either.” Henry chimed in. “ _You_ left _me_ once, but I forgave you for that a long time ago. I know you love me, and I know you don’t see my father when you look at me. I love you, Mom. Always.”

“You see, Emma,” said Killian, exerting gentle pressure on her arm to urge her closer. “We all know this isn’t you. We all love you. Come here, love.”

Emma gave a lurching sob and spun around, flinging her arms around Killian and holding tight, her face pressed against his neck, her body still shaking. He wrapped her in a fierce hug as Snow and Henry surged forward to join them.

A noise like breaking glass rent the air and for a moment it seemed to shimmer, as though the light were caught by a thousand tiny shards. Emma gave one final shudder and then a jolt as she gasped and her head flew up.

“Oh my God!” she cried. “Oh my God! What did I—I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean it!” She tried to pull away but Killian held fast, stroking her hair.

“Shhhh,” he soothed. “Of course you didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry!” Tears began to pour down Emma’s cheeks. “I love you, Killian,” she choked. “Mom, Henry, you have to know I love you.”

“We do know, honey,” said Snow, who was crying too. “Of course we know it.”

“Of course,” Henry echoed.

They stood like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, until Emma’s tears dried and her shuddering ceased. She leaned heavily against Killian’s shoulder and sighed. “I’m exhausted,” she said.

“Do you need a nap?” asked Snow.

“No,” Emma retorted. “What I _need_ is to figure out what the hell is going on here and stop it before it hurts anyone else.”

Killian nearly laughed. “There’s my Swan,” he said fondly. “Let’s go downstairs, darling. Your mother’s made cookies. I’ll make you some hot chocolate and you can tell us what happened.”

“Okay.” Emma rubbed her face against his shoulder. “Okay.”

-

“I was just outside the station,” said Emma, cradling the mug of hot chocolate between her cupped palms. “I had just hung up with Killian, and I was putting my phone away. Then I looked up and I saw—someone.”

“Who?” asked Killian.

She frowned. “I can’t remember. I definitely knew her, but I can’t remember her face or where I’d seen her before. She knew me, though. She called me by my name. She said—” Emma gave her head a shake “—she said she couldn’t wait for us to be a family again.”

“ _Again_?” echoed Snow in surprise.

“Yeah, that threw me too,” said Emma wryly. “Also, she called me ‘my darling’ and I remember thinking that was wrong. That’s what you call me.” She looked at Killian. “You call me love and darling and Mom and Dad call me honey or sweetie. Those are the only pet names I have and the only people who get to use them.” Her voice quivered with anger. “But before I could object she held up her hand and she blew something into my eyes. Then I—it’s hard to explain, but I felt like something inside me shattered. All the feelings I had, the warm ones, about my family and my life, they turned sharp and hurtful. They poked me from the inside and they cut me and all I could think was that I hated them. I hated you, all of you, and everything I—” she broke off with a sob and wrapped her arm protectively around her bump. “I called the baby a _thing,_ ” she wailed. “Oh, God, how could I!”

“Swan, no.” Killian put his arm around her shoulders and his hand over hers where it lay on their child. “The lass knows you love her.”

“How _could_ she?” Emma sobbed. “How could she when I said—”

“She feels it,” he insisted. “I promise you she does. She knows you sing to her and read her stories, and eat the green vegetables you loathe so she’ll be healthy. Please, Emma, you were under some sort of spell. Please don’t beat yourself up about this.”

Emma sniffled and let her head rest on his shoulder, her fingers curled into his.

“But who could have done this?” Snow demanded. “That’s what I want to know.” There was anger in her voice now, and determination. The determination of the Snow White who had driven the Evil Queen from power. “Maybe the better question is who _would_ have done it? Do you think it’s the same person who made the ice wall and froze David and Leroy?”

“Aye, I think that’s likely,” said Killian.

“Do you?”

“I do. There’s something about all of this that seems connected. The ice wall made by magic with a signature pattern of interlocking crystals, stronger and harder than any ice should be. The frozen people, with the same pattern on their skin. When ice is broken it shatters into shards, like how Emma described her feelings shattering and stabbing her when she was under the spell. Everything about these events has elements of the sharp and the hard and the cold. It’s possible that more than one person is responsible, but I believe it must be only one. A single agent of chaos, and everything they’ve done has been in aid of a solitary goal. We just need to work out what that is.”

“I think Mom’s the key,” said Henry. They all turned to see him frowning thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

“What makes you think that, lad?” inquired Killian.

“Because whoever it is made a bad mistake in coming after her like this. She’s known for breaking curses, and for having strong magic. Why would they come for her directly, unless—”

“Unless she’s the target,” said Snow. “You know, that makes sense.”

“It does,” Killian agreed. “Good thinking, Henry.”

“But what do they _want_ from me?” cried Emma. “What does _she_ want, assuming that the woman I saw this afternoon is the one behind all of this.”

Killian rubbed his chin as he thought. “Where were you going to go?” he asked.

“What?”

“Before we broke the spell on you, you were packing. Where were you going to go?”

“I’m… not sure. I was just going to get in the Bug and drive.”

“But you couldn’t have got out of Storybrooke, there’s an ice wall around the whole town.”

Emma frowned. “I—I knew, I don’t know how, but... I knew that if I drove to the wall that I’d be able to get through it.”

“So this woman, she expected you to leave,” Killian concluded. “Perhaps she planted the idea in your head. She wants to get you out of town, then.”

“She also wanted to separate you from the people you love,” Snow pointed out. “To make us think you hated us. Maybe to ensure we wouldn’t try to follow you?”

“Hmm,” said Emma, eyes narrowing. “Maybe.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “I know _that_ look,” he said. “What are you plotting, love?”

Emma released his hand and wiped the dampness from her cheeks, then sat up straight, her jaw set and determined. “I’m thinking that I might just have a plan,” she said.


End file.
